If you have a loved one with cancer or if you are having a love affair with cancer join me here. This is an uplifting, alluring and realistic saga of Love in the Time of cancer. I am also writing this because as Mark Twain said, “I don’t want to hear about the moon from a man who has not been there.” Loving a man with cancer is my moon. Take the next step with me.

Sunday, November 30, 2014

We went to a great funeral on Saturday. Ron was an old
friend of John’s, and he was a man who taught that taking risks for love was worth it. He knew it firsthand and he was there when John needed support.

But his funeral—is it weird to say that a funeral is great?
This one was. Ron knew his prognosis long ago and he had an accurate count-down, so he had some time to plan his dying. That can be good news or bad I guess, but the plus to knowing that you are dying is in being able to plan. It’s rare to be at a funeral for which the dead person planned
the entire event and this was that funeral: the music, readings, even the
eulogies were under his influence. And they were stunning.

It raises this question for me: Who is a funeral for? Is it for the person who died? for the family? Is it a final way to communicate our values and beliefs--even our taste in music, art, literature? Our personal theology? Or the spiritual needs of the people in the pews?

I go back and forth on this. I have two funeral files, one for John and one for me. Is that about being well organized or crazy controlling? Is it thoughtful? I like to think no one will need to guess at my favorite poems, hymns or what should be in the handouts. John's file lets me anticipate how crazy grief will make me and gives (probably false) assurance that I'll be able to choreograph his funeral in a way that will convey his taste, intellect and humor. But, really. Isn't that a lot like my childhood mantra of "What if…?" that I used over and over to provide a false feeling that preparation would protect me?

Can a funeral be inspiring, funny and creative? Ron's was. It reflected the man who had lived. He had two marriages, two
kids, dozens of jobs and thousands of friends. And what most inspired were his
adventures. He was one of the most adventurous, fun and spontaneous people. And that
has left its mark.

On the long drive home we talked about making more
adventures, taking more risks, being more spontaneous and embracing silliness in our
day-to-day.

That’s the good we can take from death—from someone else’s
and from our own impending dying. Ron’s death reminds me to keep death nearby
as my guide and friend who can whisper to me many times each day, “Time is
short; what are you doing?” "Are you living and laughing and having adventures now?" Can we put our intellect, taste, passions and humor into each living day so there is less need to demonstrate all of that later?

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

There has been a lot of interest in Raymond Carver recently because of the new film, "Birdman" which is about a Broadway production of one of Carver's short stories. Here is a beautiful poem--perfect for Thanksgiving --also from Raymond Carver near the end of his life:

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

This past weekend I led a spiritual retreat for women in
recovery. We talked about everything that goes with recovery: addictions,
relationships, support groups, transferring addictions, “positive addictions”,
prayer and God and faith and how to keep on growing and changing.

We also talked about things that women talk about when they
get together: food, eating, bodies, health, shopping, shoes, money, men,
partners, work, kids, careers, skincare and sex. Yes, sex.

I found myself leading a late night session about sex and
aging and we talked about some of the things no one tells us about owning a
female body in mid-life. What I loved about that session was that we laughed,
and cried and held such a safe space for each other to talk intimately about
our sexual needs and sexual dilemmas. It felt truly sacred to be with these
women so openly and with so much vulnerability.

That experience triggered a memory from my childhood, which
I now realize, is what gave me the confidence to create my own positive
sexuality-and maybe also it gave me courage to help other women, and couples.
Here is what I remembered about my mother:

When I was about 10 or 11 my mother gave me those little
booklets from Kimberly Clark about my changing body and about menstruation.
They were pretty risqué I guess even though they showed no actual body parts
and never, ever mentioned sex at all. But just the reference to “maturity” and
fallopian tubes was a big deal.

After that my mother, Florence, talked to me often about the
feelings—the emotional and physical feelings—that were going to come to me as I
developed physically. She told me about sex and intercourse and how babies were
made yes. But she also talked about desire and the sensations I might encounter
when I was attracted to a boy. No, she did not use the word orgasm, that would
not have been in her vocabulary, but desire was and she wanted me to understand
that desire was not a “Boys Only” experience. She wanted me to understand that
I would certainly have physical desire and sensations because she didn’t want
me to be surprised when that happened.

Later, when I was in my twenties my mother talked to me
about this and she let me in on conversations that she had been having with the
mothers of my little girl friends. Florence told me that it infuriated her when
she heard women tell girls things like, “Those boys just want one thing” and
“Your job is to keep a boy from touching you” and “If a boy touches you it’s
all for him and not for you.”

My mother, now I realize how smart she was, told those other
mothers, “You are lying to your

daughter, so the first time she feels a crush
or a sensation of desire when she has a hug or kiss with a boy she will
conclude one of two things: That she is a freak or that you are a liar. And if
your daughter thinks you lied about feelings of desire then she will not believe
the important things you told her about love and caring and deserving respect.
You will have lost her trust.”

My mother told me that I would feel desire and that I might
want some of that pleasure but that I would say no. Not because it was all for
the boy but because I would care about myself, and I’d be careful with my
feelings, and I’d want to have a good reputation. And yes, truth be told—I did
hear about the milk and the cow and what happens if it is free. J

This weekend at the podium, talking to women about their
bodies and self-care and the timing of female sexual response, I was recalling
Florence and finally appreciating what an unusual and helpful mother I had.

Sunday, November 16, 2014

It began with prostate cancer screenings and mortality studies. Then there was deeper research on breast cancer--early diagnosis and what it means, could mean, might not mean.

Now Gina Kolata writes in this week's New York Times about ways of examining the impact of increased screening versus mortality, and the complicated issues of how we should respond to diagnoses.

The cancer in this story is thyroid cancer--seemingly on the increase in Korea--until you look at the screening and diagnose numbers versus mortality numbers. Is there more cancer or more diagnosed cancer? And in the case of thyroid cancer--like prostate--is the treatment and possible debilitating effects of the treatment worth it given that mortality rates are not changed.

What Kolata describes very well is how complicated all of this is--and at the very time that we have shorter meeting times with doctors and specialists. What's a human being to do?

Do take a look at this and yes, share it with others. We all have cancer; we all have cancer cells in us at all times. So as screening techniques improve and become more refined will we all soon all have "diagnosed cancers"? That's a scary thought--in so many ways.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Death has been hanging around this week. He’s sitting on the
windowsill smoking a cigarette. Whenever I come in or out of the house he just
nods and says, “Hey.” I know why he’s here.

A friend’s husband has died. Joe had Alzheimer’s for ten
years. Finally, death…but still, death. Another friend of John’s—maybe two
weeks to live or maybe four? John hasn’t
seen him in years so he drove to Worchester this morning to say hello, and “Good-bye”
after all this time.

And death nods.

And yes, it’s Veteran’s Day. On NPR I hear a mother and
father interviewed about the way that they learned of their son’s death, and
their experience of going to Arlington this week to see his grave for the first
time.

And tomorrow Annie will go to the Saratoga National Cemetery
to bury Joe.

And death sees me coming and going and listening and
dressing. He puts out his cigarette on the sill, and just nods.

Saturday, November 8, 2014

I am getting ready to teach a class on Carl Jung next week and going through my materials I find a section that I wrote years ago on the importance of not shrinking from pain. This was, admittedly, before cancer but I think it still applies.

Jung, in talking about why we become neurotic talks about going toward pain, "go toward the thing that scares you" etc. Jung, of course split from Freud over the issues of spirituality in healing and personal growth and he believed that we had to integrate our shadows/pain/fears rather than annihilate them.

In one place he says, "God comes through the wound." I love that. But I loved it even more when I read on and learned that Jung was borrowing from Julian of Norwich who said, "Our wounds become our trophies."

I think, maybe, that is the true essence of celebrating survivor-hood. It is the integration and the god/good in us coming through the wound that is being celebrated rather than "I kicked cancer's ass."

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

As I have said before, life in cancer and caregiving is not a made-for-TV
movie. Few films capture the reality of living with --and dying from-- cancer. It is true that a visual medium is challenged to represent what is so very internal and
subtle: all the waiting, in inconclusiveness of diagnosis, the boredom of
chemo, eating lasagna, throwing out the lasagna that someone with mouth ulcers
can’t eat, the sleeping and napping, and of course the ordinariness of what
cancer is.

No, movies need drama and they need visuals so the cancer
movie clichés are: getting the bad news from the doctor, telling the kids,
losing hair, crying –a lot of crying, the moments before surgery, the recovery
room, the death bed last words and the absolute misrepresentation of what actual
death looks like.

But there are movies that give us better and worse
depictions of cancer and caregiving. The one we laugh at most maybe is Love Story,
based on the all time best/worst clichéd Chick Flick-before –its-time: "Love
Story" by Eric Segal. The story and movie would not have been so memorable
except for the two young actors in the lead: Ali McGraw and Ryan O’Neal who
discovered that love means never having to say you are sorry you made this
movie and therefore doomed all women with cancer to feel bad for not dying beautifully—and so well-dressed.

But still….cancer is part of life. We all have cancer (see
earlier blog posts for the science on that) and we all know someone with cancer, and a lot of us fear cancer so yes, it's a great movie topic.

This week we watched the latest, sweetest and touchingly new
cancer movie: “The Fault in Our Stars” based on the Young Adult novel by John
Green. And I can absolutely recommend both the book and the movie to you.

It did—because the cast is young and beautiful –make me
think of "Love Story" but with more fun, less smarm and better dialogue.